


Floss

by neotericbitch



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neotericbitch/pseuds/neotericbitch
Summary: Fairly shortly post-SPX. Valkyrie deals with her hallucinations and symptoms of PTSD by doing some boxing. Meanwhile, Skulduggery has never flossed.





	Floss

**Author's Note:**

> first sp fic i wrote after my late-2017 reread, so not my best work. take it anyway.

When she can’t sleep, Valkyrie has to do something to avoid her thoughts, to stop them pooling in and swimming around in her head. She’d like to not drown today.

Today? Yeah, it’s “today”, she supposes. There’s something about 4 o’clock in the morning that makes it feel disjoined from every other hour in the day, like it shouldn’t even be there. It’s not night or morning to Valkyrie. She never thought about it much when she was younger, as she was spending her 4ams leaping perilously from rooftop to rooftop, or fighting. Hurting people, deserved or...otherwise.

In Meek Ridge she would try to read if she was awake at this time, try to keep herself safe and hidden away in the semi-accidental prison she built for herself, her fluffy warden warming her feet. But going back to work in Ireland meant that she had to find a way to alleviate the inevitable separation anxiety that would be experienced by both her and her dear dog, so in the early mornings when no one had a right to be outside, that was where she would go.

Going on plain old walks soon proved to be too similar to sitting around with only her awful brain, so she sought an outlet. She found one soon enough.

Valkyrie is here in Roarhaven now, making use of a 24-hour gym. Everything is sturdy and fireproof, most of all what few patrons are also here at this time. She supposes they don’t get a lot of Elementals, not that she can ask anyone, or wants to. Through glass walls she occasionally glimpses a pair of sparring Adepts two rooms over, and they both remind her of Mr Bliss. The mage at the front desk who sneers at her the least reminds her of Shudder, watching dutifully, tirelessly over his hotel. She makes movements at the punching bag that reminds her of Ghastly.

The bag itself, Ravel.

It’s hung up in the centre of this particular room, and metal benches and workout equipment have all been positioned at the edges, looking in like a stadium. She has an audience, all sitting in this surrounding circle like they’re on the bleachers and Valkyrie is the main event. She doesn’t pay attention to their faces as she hammers away and they watch, but every so often, when she circles to attack the bag from a different angle, a face will fly out at her.

Wreath and Melancholia are sitting close by, apparently somewhat comfortable with each other in this fictitious projection Valkyrie has created of them, which is nice, she supposes. The Mayburys are all together, as are Lament’s sorcerers, Argeddion standing behind them. Valkyrie catches Lenka’s eye and the punching bag hits her in the face as it swings back. Kenspeckle rears back in sympathy, Tane shouts distant encouragement.

There are faces she knows, belonging to friends and foes, and faces she doesn’t know, faces she’s never seen. There are people here who probably shouldn’t be - Valkyrie doesn’t know for certain if they’re alive or dead. There are people who definitely shouldn’t be here. Her parents have front-row seats. Alice sits on Stephanie’s lap.

There’s two of her. Valkyrie’s head twists and sees the Stephanie sitting next to her dad, looks back at the one sitting next to her mum. Darquesse pats Alice’s head and smiles knowingly, and Valkyrie drops both arms just in time to get smacked in the face again, and she staggers. She steps out of the way of the next swing just in time, and stands a little unsteadily before her audience, skin slick with sweat as she throws off the boxing gloves, but not looking at her hands.

There’s got to be over a thousand people in here. She sees a hat amongst the sea, and away they blink, all gone, parted, drained away. Skulduggery has one leg crossed over the other, both hands resting on his knee.

“Didn’t notice you come in,” says Valkyrie. Doesn’t question why he’s here or how he knew she would be - sure, she’s told him about this poor excuse for a ritual, but it’s not like there’s a schedule to it. No set days. No guarantees she’ll be here. She half-wonders if he’s here every day at 4 in the morning, just on the off chance that he’ll see her early.

But only half-wonders. It doesn’t really matter.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Skulduggery responds, “given that you were thoroughly focused on giving that bag the old what-for.”

“Was there ever a point where it was the _new_ what-for?”

He thinks about this. “Perhaps. I probably missed it.”

“Well, you’re a busy guy.”

“Very.” 

In the changing room showers, conveniently emptied as soon as she arrived, Valkyrie goes temporarily offline. Just stares at the wall, at the beads of water trickling down the tile, moving at not nearly as fast a pace as the scalding hot water beating down on her back. It feels like hail, like at any moment the water will start making craters in her skin upon impact.

There’s probably an Elemental out there who can make that happen. 

Dressed and drying her hair, Skulduggery comes in to keep her company. He grunts in annoyance at the steam and perspiration coating every tile in the room, and waves his hand in the general direction of the drain on the floor, where all the water goes into a puddle and slowly starts to seep away. He stand stiffly, but not uncomfortably, a few steps behind Valkyrie while she looks into a mirror, wiping away what water is left on her face with a hand towel. She glances at his reflection. His aura is nice and red today.

Valkyrie checks every day.

She gets her comb and toothbrushing equipment from a pocket in her bag. Skulduggery goes to the nearest wooden bench and sits down, head tilted upwards, apparently enthralled by the ceiling corner. He talks to her while she combs her hair, thanks her for the umpteenth time for her twice-monthly effort to teach Omen self-defence, the boy couldn’t have spoken highly of her the other day. Skulduggery had been at the Academy for a cameo appearance in a criminology extension class, or at least that was what he claims. Valkyrie can’t remember any famous detectives ever dropping by while her refl... While Stephanie was in school.

“I would have liked to hold her for real,” says Darquesse. “As myself.”

Valkyrie puts down the comb.

“I don’t suppose I could have done any more damage than you.”

“What was that?” asks Valkyrie, her voice echoing around the room.

“I said you have a way of attracting Necromancers,” Skulduggery repeats, “after informing you that your lovely teacher sends her best wishes.”

“Oh, heh,” she mumbles, wetting her toothbrush under the tap. “Bless her.”

Skulduggery is silent while Valkyrie brushes her teeth.

“Do you remember when we were fourteen,” says Darquesse, sitting beside him, “and you begged and begged him to brush his teeth in front of you? Do you remember that? I do. You were delighted. And hey, I think I was too.” She shoves him, gets up, kicks him in the ribs. Smashes his skull underfoot. “In hindsight, not as amusing. You know what’d be funnier? A toothpaste face mask.”

“Is there something on me?” asks Skulduggery, standing and stepping up to the mirror. “Ah, I knew it. I’d have noticed. I have an eye for these things.”

“He doesn’t have an _eye_ for anything,” Darquesse whispers. Then adds, urging her, “Tell him that, he’ll laugh.” Valkyrie repeats it to him and he does indeed laugh. It’s not terribly genuine, because it’s not a terribly good joke and she knows this, but Valkyrie supposes he wants to encourage her to make them regardless of their quality.

Floss next. Skulduggery watches her with that titled head of his. 

“Never tried that,” he idly comments. 

“No way,” says Valkyrie. “There’s no way. I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” Skulduggery insists. “Toothpicks were all the rage, back in the day. And the day before that, we used twigs.” He’s quiet for just a beat, long enough for Valkyrie to look at him rather than his reflection. “Wartime was difficult for us all.”

A snicker does rise. “I bet.”

“I really never have flossed, though.”

Valkyrie shrugs. “Give it a try. That’s what this is leading to, right? That’s what you’re hinting towards? You may not have gums, but hey - it’s a new experience. Go on.”

She hands the tiny plastic case containing the roll of floss to him. He looks at it. Doesn’t bring it closer to his skull, doesn’t open it. Though he does take off his hat.

“Perhaps I won’t,” he says after a moment. “I may be developing a phobia of one of my teeth being ripped out by a tiny piece of string. I couldn’t tell you where it’s come from. But it is a scary thought, to lose one of my teeth. Method irrelevant." 

Valkyrie doesn’t think he remembers when she lost one of hers.

“No, I don’t think I’ll do it,” continues Skulduggery. Is this a bit? “I wouldn’t know where to begin. With my favourite teeth, or least? Top row or bottom?” It is. “I should leave the flossing to the flossers of the world, it’s a road I dare not travel.”

Valkyrie feels a pain coming up in her shoulder. No- neck, no- face. Cheek, like her bone aches. All of those places. “I think you’ve flossed before. I think you’re messing with me." 

“I’d never joke about something as serious as this.”

“No, I see what you’re doing. You’re pretending you don’t know how to floss because you know I’ll eventually offer to teach you or do it for you myself. Then you’ll reveal that, actually, you floss every day and never told me and boy, won’t my face be red. Yeah, I’m quite looking forward to the punchline at my expense.” 

Skulls can look baffled, under the right circumstances. He tilts his head in understanding, but doesn’t say anything. Good. Valkyrie wishes she’d never spoken. Valkyrie wishes he’s an elaborate branch of her earlier hallucination. She thought she wasn’t upset about this anymore.

“I’m projecting,” she says, the word flinging itself from her memory, originally out of a self-help book that hadn’t done much good. “I’m sorry. I don’t even-- Sorry. I’ve been seeing things today. Not that...that justifies me lashing out. It’s just,” she stops, looks down at his hand. Takes the container back and holds it in a fist. “It’s just floss.”

Skulduggery nods. It’s not a nod in agreement, merely one to acknowledge what she’s said. “Of course,” he says. “It’s alright. I understand.”

Valkyrie feels pain all over. She catches Darquesse leaving the room in the mirror. Drops the container and it clatters to the floor. The shower didn't do much to revive her from her tangle with the punching bag, or the restless night that came before that. She thinks maybe it would have been better to stayed home and read a book. She misses her self-imposed cell. She’s experiencing separation anxiety.

Anxiety in general.

“It’s not just floss,” says Valkyrie, and her head droops down onto Skulduggery’s shoulder. She sags, not in a way that threatens an imminent fall, but the possibility is open. She might just drown after all. He wraps his arm around her in case.

“I know,” replies Skulduggery.


End file.
